Miracle on Stan's Street
by Cszemis
Summary: When Stan cannot feel the spirit of the season, a certain Jewish friend takes him on a Christmas adventure he will never forget.


**Title:** Miracle on Stan's Street

**Author:** Cszemis

**Rating:** G

**Summary:** When Stan cannot feel the spirit of the season a certain Jewish friend takes him on a Christmas adventure he will never forget.

**Disclaimer:** I would have thought that Christmas was the one time you could forget about the disclaimer. But this is dedicated to BroflovskiFan, Indiana Beach Bum, Shuggie, Will Sing for Monies, Seaouryou, wootchristine and moony-prof: such utterly fabulous people.

Ok guys. Before I start. This is largely yet loosely based on a British Christmas film that you either love or hate. It's called the Snowman and it's a short yet sad and emotional Christmas film about a young boy who goes to find Santa with his snowman. There is no dialogue except this one song "Walking in the Air" which is wonderfully atmospheric even if it sends you round the bend after hearing it for nearly 25 years. This song, I'm not joking, is practically hardwired into every British person because they show the Snowman every year (usually on BBC I think). Everyone knows this blasted song! Britain can't have a Christmas without it!!!

Anyway, hope those that have seen the Snowman enjoy this and all those that haven't I suggest watching it for that bittersweet Christmassy feeling. And download the song too. Make it become part of your consciousness, because after it does you cannot escape from it. Ever! (But do it properly and download the Aled Jones version)

* * *

"The first year after they learn you-know-what is always the hardest," Sharon was explaining to Liane as they stood in the line to see Santa, idly smoothing back her son's hair. 

"It's always a rough Christmas after they learn the truth about S-A-N-T-A," Sharon was not even looking at Stan, who was mouthing along bitterly to his mother's little speech, drawing sniggers from Eric Cartman.

"Oh yes, but I'm not going to let it ruin my little Eric's fun," Liane smiled warmly and brushed imaginary dust from her dearest darling's shoulder. Eric grumbled in response and tugged his shoulder away, rolling his eyes.

"Have you got all your presents in yet?" Stan tried to drown out the adults' conversation, thinking it was rather foolish of them if they had not bought in all their presents. It was Christmas Eve and to Stan's mind only bloody fools left their Christmas shopping to the last minute. He'd seen the queues, seen the empty shelves and all those abandoned and bashed toys that would probably end up the present for the poor child of some lazy parent.

Cartman on the other hand was fidgeting, and he kept trying to peer over Stan to see how far it was to the end of the queue. Jumping up every so often, he kept leaning against Stan's shoulder and the two nine year olds were ready to fight it out when Stan shoved Cartman away angrily.

"Quit it tubby," Stan glowered at his fat little friend, "it's just two other kids and then me. But if you jump on my shoulder again you won't be able to sit down this Christmas."

"Ha ha," Eric smirked, "I'd like to see you try. Like…in your dreams."

"I mean it," Stan pointed his finger at him, "I will kick your fucking ass if you try that again."

"Language, Stanley!" Sharon gave Stan's hair a small tug and went back to talking to Liane.

Rubbing his head, the boy in the red poof ball hat turned his back to Cartman and focused instead on the Christmas music, hoping for the last time that it might ignite some of the Christmas spirit in his heart.

"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?" Cartman asked, swiping a candy cane off a kid that was not paying enough attention and started sucking on it greedily.

"Nothing!" Stan stared forward at the obviously fake Santa Claus sitting on a golden throne and did his best to ignore Cartman.

"Is this about the Jew again?"

"No!" Stan protested and turned round to hit Cartman on the shoulder.

"Stanley! I'm not going to tell you again!" Sharon scolded him and looked apologetically at Liane. Liane on the other hand was blissfully unaware and just smiled back.

"I wish Kenny was here," Cartman said with his annoying sing-song voice, "if he wasn't such a poor asshole and isn't legally allowed to see Santa we could have had fun."

"Doing what?" Stan muttered, "Breaking Santa's lap since you're so fat?"

"No," Cartman smiled, scheming, "we could have been looking up the skirts of Santa's ho ho Hoes."

Stan's eyes widened, "Huh?"

"What you think Santa isn't looking up their skirts either?" Cartman smirked, "They're helpers. What do you think they help him out with?"

"You're spending too much time with Kenny and his Playboys!"

"Oh don't be such a little gay wad," Cartman licked unconcerned on his candy cane.

"It's your turn next little boy," one of the Christmas helpers, foul and fake with white blonde hair and red puffy lips beckoned Stan out of the line, her long, red nails looking horribly like claws.

"Go ahead Stanley," Sharon gently pushed him towards the stairs.

Swallowing his pride, the worldly wise nine year old climbed the stairs up to Santa's golden throne, inwardly criticising every little detail of the fat man in front of him. The suit was too tight, the beard too obviously fake, his eyes lacking that Christmas sparkle that so defined the real Father Christmas. Stan balled his fists and decided to look down instead, unable to handle the pain that suddenly seemed to engulf him.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa Claus coughed, sounding too young and coarse for a heavy heart like Stan's, "and what's your name little boy?"

"Stan Marsh," Stan whispered.

"Oh, I'm sorry little boy but I can't hear you. What's your name?"

Stan looked up into the face of the mall Santa and flinched, "Stanley Marsh."

"Oh I remember you," Santa pretended to be jolly, "you're on my good list."

"You've said that to every kid," Stan spoke plainly, trying not to sound bitter.

"Well all the little boys and girls in South Park have been so good this year," Santa guffawed loudly.

Stan did not think any of the kids in South Park had been particularly good this year. He, himself had been responsible for flooding nearby Beaverton, Cartman had tried to get Family Guy cancelled by being a manipulative asshole, and Stan had taken a dump in the urinal, all of them had practiced the dark arts when they summoned the spirit of Biggie Smalls and Cartman had nearly killed his mother when she tried to be dominant. It seemed like no one had been good in South Park for several years, not they had not tried but the weird things that happened always seemed to prevent them from being good little boys.

"So are you going to jump up on Santa's lap and tell him what you want for Christmas?" Santa bellowed annoyingly.

"I don't really feel like it…"

"Sure you do," Santa grabbed Stan around his waist and pulled him up onto his lap.

Sitting this close to the fat man was uncomfortable, Santa's beard scratched at Stan's cheek and he balanced precariously on his knees, Santa's big belly giving little room for him to sit. Stan was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the reason this man had been chosen to play Santa was simply because he was fat.

"So what do you want for Christmas, Stanley?" the fake Santa asked.

"Nothing," Stan just wanted to run away.

"Oh, good little boys like you always want something for Christmas," Santa leaned close to Stan and he could faintly pick up traces of beer on the man's breath, "tell me, what do you really, really want? If you could pick something out of all of the world, what would you like? Santa has magic powers you know."

"Yeah I know," Stan began, "but you can't really help."

"Sure I can!"

"Well," Stan sighed, "You see, my friend Kyle, he's Jewish. And his Mom and Dad took him to Israel for Hanukkah and I want him to come back."

Santa looked a little uncomfortable, "so your friend doesn't believe in me… because he's Jewish?"

Stan shrugged, "I guess not. But why does that matter? Isn't Christmas about being with your friends and family? Well for Christmas I want my friend to come back."

"Well, I'll try little boy, but when he comes back is up to his Mommy and Daddy. Santa can't tell his parents to come home."

"But if you were the real Santa," Stan narrowed his eyes and frowned up at him, "then you could make him come back. Even for just one day. You could fly away on your sleigh and get him."

"Erm," Santa thought for a moment, "Santa isn't allowed to fly over the Middle East."

"Yeah he is," Stan argued, "he brought Christmas to Iraq before. Can't you bring Christmas to Israel or at least just bring Kyle home?"

"Look, Stanley, I don't think that's possible. But if you like Santa can bring you the new Lightning McQueen remote control car. It's fun and you can race your fat little friend in the queue."

"OI!"

"No, I don't want Lightning McQueen," the nine year old argued with Santa, "I want my buddy Kyle."

"Are you sure there's not anything else?" Santa seemed to be very annoyed with him. Father Christmas was supposed to have the patience of a saint but obviously this one did not.

"Hey Santa," the little helper skipped back up, her big gold earrings blinding as they reflected all the Christmas lights, "there are a lot of other kids here."

"Oh yes of course," Santa grinned at her, "little Stanley here is going to get the new Lightning McQueen remote control car for Christmas!"

"No I'm not!" Stan fumed.

"Well here's an early Christmas present," she leaned over them both and handed Stan a box of candy, "and thanks for visiting Santa's Magical Christmas Village."

Stan sighed with relief and was about to climb off of Santa's lap when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. As the helper leaned over, her boobs were practically in Santa's face and Santa was leering at them, the blonde giggling as he winked suggestively up at her.

Two things overcome Stan at that very moment. One was nausea and his body thought long and hard whether it should throw up all over the fat man's lap just to spite him, when instead the anger in his heart erupted to the surface.

"YOU'RE NOT THE REAL SANTA!" he yelled out.

"Huh?" Santa took his eyes away from the boobs.

"YOU'RE NOT SANTA!" tears began to form in Stan's eyes, pointing furiously up at him.

Everyone in Santa's Magical Christmas Village stopped dead and sucked in a deep breath. Even Cartman nearly dropped his candy cane in shock. Clyde Donovan at the back of the line burst into anguished sobs and some of the children became visibly upset.

"STANLEY!" Sharon yelled, going red in embarrassment at her son's behaviour, "Come down from there right now young man!"

"HE'S NOT SANTA!" Stan kept yelling, jumping away from the fat man and his busty little friend, "HE WAS LOOKING AT THAT LADY'S BOOBS!"

"STANLEY!" Sharon began ascending the stairs to get him.

"HE'S A FAKE! HE'S A PHONEY AND HE'S NOT REAL!" Stan grabbed the front of Santa's beard and pulled hard, half of the hair pinging away from the actor's face.

"Hey kid!" Santa tried to fix himself, pulling his beard back into place but the damage had been done. The kids had seen his real face.

"That's not Santa!" a kindergartner yelled out and began to cry.

"You told me he was the real Santa," another little girl said, gazing accusingly up at her mother, "You lied to me. I won't forget that mother. I won't forget that ever."

"I'm so sorry about that," Sharon laughed uncomfortably and apologised to all the parents, "he's been having some problems recently."

"My problem is being forced to see this fake!" Stan yelled at his mother, "I didn't want to come! You made me!"

"I thought it'd be fun," Sharon tried to explain to him, keeping her tone as soothingly as possible until they were out of the Christmas Village when she would begin shouting.

"Does it look like I'm having fun?" Stan cried, "Screw you! I'm going home!"

"Hey, that's my line," Cartman complained and flipped Stan the finger.

"You're going to your room as soon as we get home Stanley," Sharon tried to grab Stan's shoulder and lead him away.

But the nine year old dodged her grip and he ran. He ran out of the Christmas Village with its gaudy lights and tinsel, past midgets dressed as elves and into the mall, forcing his way through the Christmas crowds and late minute shoppers. He ran all the way home, his sight blurred by tears, nearly slipping in the snow and tripping over lawn decorations.

When he reached his home, he forced open the door and ran upstairs sobbing to his room. Randy was sitting by the fireplace, drinking eggnog and reading the newspaper when his son burst in and disappeared up the stairs. He put down his drink and went to the bottom of the stairs and was about to yell up to quieten down when he heard the muffled sobs.

But rather than going to see what was Stan's problem was, Randy shrugged and guessed that the little fat kid Cartman must have said something really nasty and rather than let a childish tantrum ruin his Christmas Eve Randy went back to his eggnog.

* * *

They let him down for a special Christmas Eve dinner but apart from that Stan was mostly confined to his room. Sharon had felt absolutely embarrassed by her son's behaviour, having to apologise profusely and repeatedly to the angry parents whose children were now almost traumatised. 

Clyde's mother in particular was furious and had needed half an hour to console her son, promising that there was a Santa Claus and that Stanley Marsh was just being silly.

Stan did not feel like he was being silly at all.

He did not like the fact that he had upset his mother and was hurt by her coldness when she returned home after him. But then she was not the one that had to spend the best time of year without her best friend and so she could never understand how lonely it made him feel.

After dinner he excused himself and instead of returning to his room he went into the back garden. Stan stood for a few moments his hands in his pockets, staring up the winter's sky, soft white snowflakes twinkling down from the dark heavens. His eyes burned and with his little fist he rubbed away the tears that tried to trickle down his face. His chest felt tight and the wind seemed unnaturally cold, tearing away any excitement he might have had for Christmas.

In a rage, he reached down into the snow and grabbing a handful of the white stuff he chucked it as hard as he could at the fence. Again and again, he pelted the fence with snowballs, trying to rid himself of the awful loneliness that had settled in his heart.

The rational part of Stan explained that Kyle was only going to be away for about a week and a bit, that he would be home soon, but he had already spent too many of those joyful days leading up the Christ's birth with only the fat ass and the pervert for company. It did not exactly instil the festive spirit into a person upon reflection.

The rational side told him to calm down and stop being so immature. But it was too difficult. His mother had been right when she said that it was difficult not believing in Santa. Stan knew all along that Santa existed, he had met him several times after all, but being forced not to believe in someone that he knew well did hurt. He was being forced to grow up and he was not sure he wanted to. Stan was envious of all the other kids that got to believe in Santa and not care, singing carols at the top of their obnoxious child lungs and getting too hyper to sleep on Christmas Eve.

At the same time he envied Kyle. Kyle had met Santa too but he had not been forced to believe in fairy stories and then have the world ripped out from under him. Kyle had Hanukkah and candles, not mystical cat burglars in red suits that snuck down chimneys and left presents if you had been good. His belief system, his faith, was different from Stan's and he at no point had to accept that it was all wrong, that everything was fake.

All his good behaviour was cancelled out now anyway after his performance at the mall and even if he was allowed to believe in Santa, all Stan was likely to get was a lump of coal. Pummelling the fence furiously he reflected on the unfairness of it all. He had tried to be so good this year. He had honestly tried. He had looked forward to Christmas and spending it with his best friend and then his mother had to tell him a lie that Santa did not exist and Kyle had to leave the country.

Holding a snowball in his hand, he added more and more snow to it, pressing it in to make the ice super hard. Soon the snowball was much bigger than his fist and could probably knock a hole in the fence if he threw it hard enough. But for some reason, he did not. Stan placed his big ball of snow on the ground and began to roll it through the snowdrifts. Shivering with the cold, he rolled and rolled that ball, pressing the snow in and packing it tight. He went around most of his back garden like that and then rolled it through his front porch, stopping occasionally to breathe hot air onto his poor hands.

With many years of practise at making a snowman it was not long before the ball was so big that Stan could not longer push it around. He had not used all the snow in his garden yet but it had gotten too big and heavy for a nine year old to push and was almost as big as himself. So he found a flat spot of land and planted the snowman, pushing other layers around the base of the ball to steady it and create the body.

Standing back to admire his work, Stan pushed some sticks into either side of the body and little stones down the middle, creating the arms and buttons of his snowman. He then dashed around his front porch and began the process all over again. He made another big ball of snow, so big it reached his knee and then with great difficulty carried it over to his snowman. Stan levelled the top of his snowman and with a great "humph" of effort he placed the head onto the snowman. He added the eyes, the mouth and quietly pondered how to finish his snowman.

He dashed into the house; now rushing with a strange adrenaline that helped rid him of his loneliness. He took the steps up to his room two by two and pulled apart the contents of his wardrobe when he reached his room. He knew what he was looking for. His best friend had left it behind months ago but it didn't matter because he had hundreds of them anyway. From behind a pair of roller skates he had used perhaps twice, Stan pulled out a bright green ushanka. He held it in his hands for a moment, and then deciding that he was behaving particularly gay he headed down to the kitchen.

With a smirk on his face he looked through the carrots that his mother had bought for Christmas dinner. When he found a carrot that was slightly crooked and bent he carried both items outside. He placed the carrot right where the snowman's nose would have been if it had one.

"Ha ha, Jew nose," he laughed to himself.

And to finish off his work he placed the ushanka on top of the snowman's head. Thus the illusion was complete and for a few moments he was reunited with his best friend. The SnowKyle smiled stupidly up at his friend, his nose crooked and his smile slightly lopsided. But Stan did not fix either of them. He liked his snowman. He had to resist the urge to hug it as he realised that if Cartman or Kenny were here then they would be calling him a fag.

A few moments later Randy Marsh finally realised where Stan was.

"You're supposed to be in your room young man!" he stood at the front door, his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I know, I was just…" Stan began.

"Bed! Now!" Randy pointed back inside the house. It may have been Christmas but Stan was still going to get punished for his misbehaviour.

"But Dad…"

"Now Stanley!" Randy raised his voice a little more.

Stan sighed and made his way back into the house, pushing past his father. When he began to head upstairs he heard his father say;

"And why are you making a snowman like that?" Randy appeared to be frowning at the ushanka.

"It's Kyle's hat," he explained.

"You can't do stuff like that Stan, people will think you are you know… funny," Randy told him.

"It's not gay, it's funny. The carrot is all crooked."

"Just get to bed," and so Stan was sent back to his room for the night.

He got changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. Stan's eyes burned with furious tears as he stared at his ceiling, thinking about everything he was missing out on.

The way your breath stopped at the sight of a Christmas tree, lit up in all its glory and yet strangely hollow and fake to his heart. The way everyone smiled at a familiar carol, mentally singing the words even though they would never join in with the chanting. To him it felt like the carols were stifling. He sometimes just wanted to go and listen to his rock music and everyone else just wanted to sing about Jesus and cold winter nights.

He did not care about the smell of cakes and gingerbread and he did not care how much it snowed outside. South Park was always covered in snow so why did one December day out of thirty one have to be covered in the stuff? The way everyone smiled almost arrogantly that there would be a white Christmas just made him want to yell at the adults for being so stupid.

Why did it matter that it snowed on Christmas when you could not even spend the day with your best friend?

Stan growled and rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. Every Christmas in his life had been spent with Kyle, even though the little Jewish boy never celebrated it and his only acknowledgement of the season was the belief in a magical and annoyingly bizarre piece of singing poo.

Kyle had always given him a Christmas present and Stan had always given Kyle a present for Hanukah. There were eight days for giving presents during the Festival of Lights but there was absolutely no way that a nine year old boy could afford so many gifts unless they were five cent spider rings or candy bars. In any case Kyle's sensible nature laughed at Stan's concerns about so many gifts and they had decided on just one for each other.

Every year they sat and made finger paintings of seasonal pictures, Kyle stubbornly painting a Star of David or a Menorah into every Christmas picture that the teachers would hand out with the crayons and felt tip pens. Stan by the age of nine knew quite a few Hanukah songs even though he did not really have a clue what he was singing about and Kyle probably knew the words to Christmas carols more than the average Christian. Spending the holidays with loved ones is what the seasons is all about, not some commercialised bastardisation of a holiday. Santa brought a smile and happiness to so many and he was for everyone, not just for Christians. And Stan liked to think that not even religion could separate him from his best friend.

It was round about midnight that Santa heard little Stanley Marsh's sadness. Unfortunately he was still on the East Coast so he sent someone ahead to bring some happiness to a small boy in South Park.

Stan had finally fallen asleep when his mother tucked him in. She kissed his forehead and wished him a Merry Christmas, her coldness having melted away with some hot chocolate. She did not know that outside on the front porch Stan's snowman was beginning to melt and neither did Stan. She left her little one to sleep and went to bed with Randy, looking forward to seeing Stan's happy smile on Christmas morning.

The SnowKyle on the other hand lost his stick arms and they fell away uselessly as the ice melted into the shapes of real arms, real fingers. Two legs now stood the snowman upright and droplets of water trickled down his face, shaping the features of another small boy. The carrot too fell to the ground as a nose made of snow took its place. It was not as crooked as the carrot but it still had plenty of character.

The snowman shivered as he began to shed parts of himself, slimming down into the figure of a boy. He was still very much made of snow and ice and yet he had a warmth in his icy heart. The snowman coughed out some snow from his lungs and shook his head free of the little stones that made his mouth and eyes. He melted perhaps a little too much and the ushanka fell temporarily in front of his eyes. With his unused and fragile arms he tried to fix it back into place.

The snowman took a few uneasy steps across the garden, trying to get used to his new legs. When they felt a little stronger, the ice hardened until it became more like crystal. His form glistening in the streetlights, he made his way up the house, a boy of snow and ice.

The snow boy stopped and smiled up at a bedroom window. And using powers he never realised he until a few moments before he flew up to the glass, peering inside at a dark haired child asleep under his duvet. The SnowKyle smiled more and tapped gently on the window pane, trying to wake the boy inside.

Stan stirred and did not wake. So the snowman pushed the window open and climbed into the house. For a moment he seized up and threatened to melt away entirely as the warmth of the house hit him. So as quickly as possible he rushed his creator's side and shook him.

Stan shivered as something very cold touched him and began shaking him. His eyes opened and he stared awestruck into the face of his snowman. It had changed but it was still definitely his snowman as it had that ushanka still stuck on his head.

"W-what?" he leaned away from the snowman, not sure how terrified he should be.

But the snowman very excitedly pointed towards the window. The snowman seemed unable to talk and could only gesture out of the open window.

"Could you shut it, I'm freezing!" he asked the boy of ice.

SnowKyle shook his head with a no and tried to pull Stan out of bed.

"Hey quit it! I'm not going with you!" Stan muttered and clung to his duvet, "Why are Christmas creatures always waking me up every year?"

The snowman seemed really saddened by his friends refusal and he began to melt some more, his whole body slumping. It was then that Stan recognised the snowman's new features.

"Kyle?" he asked softly.

The snowman gestured towards the window again and obeying this time, Stan put on his coat and a pair of slippers and followed the snow Kyle to the window. When the snowman tried to climb out of the window Stan panicked.

"You'll fall!" but the snowman shook his head and smiled, making a flying gesture with his arm.

"I can't fly dude, I'll fall," Stan was beginning to understand the absurdity of the situation but he did not mind it in the slightest.

Once again Kyle shook his head in a no and took his friend's hand. Stan shivered at how cold it was but said nothing, puzzled by his snowman's behaviour. He felt himself grow weightless and in a few minutes he and his snowman were hovering in the middle of his bedroom. Stan wobbled in the air and nearly fell but the ice Kyle held his hand tight and drifted towards the window.

"Are you sure I'm not going to fall?" he asked, not so worried about falling as he was about landing. The snowman gave him a look that clearly said "I promise" and with a deep breath both of them flew out of the window.

Stan tried very hard not to scream as he found himself soaring over the small mountain of South Park, The snowman took him over the Post Office, even over the Elementary school as they began to fly away from home. Officer Barbrady dropped his Tweek's Coffee in shock when he saw the two boys fly over his head but the elderly policeman decided he must be crazy if he believed the Marsh boy could fly.

Stan and Kyle soared through the air, the snow that had been falling upon South Park had stopped and the land below was lit up, not by Christmas lights but by rows and rows of streetlamps. The moon too hang majestically over Colorado as they floated over the sleepy houses, everyone inside dreaming about their family, the gifts they were going to receive and the thousands of things they would have to get ready for the Christmas dinner the next day.

Stan held onto his friend's hand so tightly that it almost broke the snowman. But without any words the snow Kyle could not say so and just tried to keep himself focused on staying whole, keeping the ice frozen. Stan was breathless at the sight below him as they flew faster and faster. Soon they were out of Colorado all together and soared over the many states that made the USA. They also gained in height and employees at airports were puzzled as two small blips went through their radar. They were too big to be birds and too small to be airplanes and many ended up calling for their supervisors, worrying about the possibility of a missile attack.

The dark haired boy had no moment to study his friend as they began to flow over Canada. It felt like they were far across in the world in barely seconds, traveling into "Santa time", that special abnormality that allowed a jolly old fat man to deliver his presents to millions of children in one night. Villages, towns, and entire cities glanced past, momentary eruptions of light in such a cold and dark night. They flew over rivers and hills, from towering mountains and skyscrapers to the depths of oceans and little farms. Cows grew uneasy the sight of them, panicking that visitors had returned to turn them inside out but the boys vanished as quickly as they appeared. Stan and Kyle soared over dark, dense forest and little streams. And despite how fast they were going they somehow saw it all, every car, every home.

And people down below saw them too. It was not just Officer Barbrady that dropped his coffee, other adults too. And children sitting at their window sill when they should have been in bed gazed open mouthed as not Santa flew past but a little boy made of ice and another in his PJ's. Everyone of course told themselves they were crazy and needed to sleep, that the stress of Christmas had taken its toll on them and the only thing they needed was some hot chocolate and a nice, warm bath.

It was not long before they finally reached the sea heading towards the North Pole. Stan had by this point realised where he was going and was thankful he was not traveling there in a train made of poo. He was taking a moment to admire the ice bergs drifting southwards along the coast when he relaxed, accidentally letting go of his snowman's hand.

He screamed as he fell, expecting at any moment to hit the icy ocean or to impale himself on the tip of an iceberg. But as he fell out of the dark sky, mere moments before he hit the even darker ocean, two strong arms grabbed his shoulders and held him up.

It was the snowman. He held Stan under the arms and still flew along, holding his nine year old friend rather precariously. They were so close to the ocean that Stan could see his reflection in the water, the moon illuminating his features a ghostly white as they skimmed along the surface of the water. The snow Kyle saw his reflection too and grinned into the water, the boys sharing a smile. They surfed over this frozen landscape for quite sometime, icebergs seeming like frozen mountains as they glided by.

They had to swerve violently to the left though when a great whale's tail surfaced and almost knocked them right into the water. A fountain of frozen water almost hit them too as the whale took a deep breath and dived back into the icy depths. Stan grinned at the sight of the whale, reminding him of Willzyk who was no doubt enjoying a Christmas party with his friends and family on the moon.

In the distance, something began to glow and Stan could make out of the home of Santa Claus. He felt his SnowKyle begin to slow and the two boys touched down gently just outside.

"I knew he was real," Stan breathed, "they can't tell me any different."

Kyle just appeared to shrug and led him towards the door where they were greeted by an underpants gnome.

"Hello boys," said the gnome, "Santa is going to be home soon, you can have a hot drink while you wait."

The snowman shook his head no, he did not want to melt anymore but Stan requested some hot chocolate and marshmallows, making himself comfortable beside a large fire. Kyle sat some distance away from the fire but close enough to Stan.

"So what's going on dude?" Stan asked him, "Aren't you in Israel?"

The snowman shrugged as he did not really have a clue why he was here either.

"Kyle?" Stan asked.

The snowman pointed to himself as if to say "is that my name?"

"Well you sorta look like him," Stan said, feeling puzzled, "You have his face, and his hat, but hey! What happened to your nose?"

Kyle shrugged and felt offended, rubbing his nose gently. He did not see what was wrong with his nose at all. He was just glad to be rid of that awful carrot.

The gnomes kept them as comfortable as possible, bringing in big red cushions with gold tassels for them to sit upon and more marshmallows for the hot chocolate. Kyle could not speak but Stan was enjoying himself. This felt nice. It felt better. It began to feel more like Christmas.

"I'm beginning to forget you know," he told his snowman friend, "we're here and all, but not long ago I was one of those people that believed in Santa, whether I'd met him didn't matter. Now I'm one of those people that know the secret. I'm not allowed to believe in Santa Claus anymore."

"People can't tell you what to believe," one of the gnomes argued.

"But I still know the secret," Stan explained, "I'm supposed to be mature now. But it's not fair is it? They tell you Santa is not real but you have to keep pretending for all the kids that don't know yet. Clyde doesn't even know yet."

Kyle just listened.

"I know you don't believe in Santa or whatever," Stan continued, "but don't you think it's the cruelest thing ever? To make you happy for so many years and then take it all away? None of this is supposed to be real. None of it should be real. I should be dreaming and right now I'm supposed to be still in bed."

"Maybe you are," one of the gnomes suggested.

"But this feels so real!" he told them all.

"You make your own reality little one," the underpants gnomes seemed to have gotten wiser in the time Stan had seen them last.

"Then this is real," he decided, "I'm going to see the real Santa with my best friend."

Kyle the snowman just smiled and hugged his knees.

About an hour later they heard the sounds of sleigh bells and thrusting himself to his feet, Stan rushed over to the window, watching a majestic red sleigh land just outside.

"It's him!" he declared, "It's not some stupid mall Santa this time!"

Kyle stood up but stayed where he was.

"Come on dude!" he called to his best friend and ran outside, not caring about the cold wind or the snow that had begun to fall again. A man in a red suit with white trim, black boots and large belly emerged from the sleigh. At the sight of him, all the things that made Christmas suddenly became real again; winter's light and the sound of choirs, the smell of Christmas trees and the glisten of tinsel, the taste of turkey and a warm fireplace.

"Santa!" Stan launched himself into the old man's arms.

"Careful now, Santa's not as young as he used to be," Father Christmas chuckled and messed his hair affectionately.

"It's so good to see you," Stan smiled, "I had something to ask you."

"What was that young Stanley?" Santa led him back inside, the snow Kyle looking rather lonely and sad as Stan walked with Father Christmas.

"My friend is in Israel," Stan began, "he's my best friend in the whole wide world. I want him to come home for Christmas."

Something changed in Santa's eyes and he glanced at the poor snowman who seemed forgotten with the arrival of Father Christmas, "You must mean little Kyle?"

"Yeah dude!" Stan's face went red, "I mean, yes sir."

"I think I can do that, but what about your snowman?"

"He's just ice. He's not the real Kyle."

"My dear Stan," Santa sighed, "you seem to think that just because something isn't real then it's not important. That Santa in the mall may have been a drunk and a womaniser, and rest assured he will be in trouble for that, but you forget why he is there. He's there to spread happiness and joy. I sent you a snowman to help you not feel so lonely and you reject him too."

Stan's eyes widened.

"Stan, I know this is hard to hear, but you are thinking too much about yourself. You may think "well what about the likes of Eric Cartman? He never thinks of anyone but himself." But you too have been caught up in your own unhappiness. The only real way to truly be happy is to make other people happy. If you missed Kyle then you could have been keeping your mind occupied by volunteering for charity or even helping your mother get the house tidy for Christmas."

"I'm sorry Santa, I didn't know," Stanley Marsh felt very ashamed of himself. Santa was completely right of course. He always was.

"It's alright, I'm not mad," Santa gave him another hug," but did you not realise that part of the reason the Broflovskis' went away for Hanukkah was because they felt unwelcome? Especially Kyle? You feel lonely this Christmas but he has felt lonely for nearly nine years more. I know you try to include him but sometimes you don't."

"I guess so," Stan whispered and looked around for his snowman. But there was nothing, "Kyle?"

"He's gone Stanley," Santa turned his gaze towards a puddle of water on the floor.

"But…" Stan felt very alarmed and hurt, "he's my f-f-friend."

Santa smiled and his eyes twinkled, "and he always will be."

"But…" Stan began again.

"It's late Stan, time to sleep," the underpants gnomes appeared again to lead him to a guest bedroom.

"How shall I get home tomorrow?" Stan asked.

Santa tapped the side of his nose and grinned, "Santa shall find a way."

* * *

Stan woke in his own bed. 

He thought he had being going to wake up in Santa's grotto, surrounded by reindeers and a bunch of gnomes congratulating themselves in a good year's hard work. But there were his posters on the wall and his dirty socks on the floor. He felt strangely disappointed and wondered what had woken him up.

His question was answered a few moments later when he heard a familiar voice yell out, "Fuck yeah!"

Wondering why Cartman swearing so loudly on Christmas Day he clambered out of bed and went over to the window. To his horror his snowman was still there, or at least it had been. The ushanka was knocked askew and Eric Cartman was having a hell of a time destroying the SnowKyle, letting out a whoop every time he knocked a new section off.

Stan threw on his shoes and his coat and dashed down the stairs, "Stop Cartman! Don't!"

But by the time he got there it was already too late. The snowman was completely and absolutely dead, smashed to smithereens. Stan got onto knees beside the wreckage and picked up the hat.

"But it felt so real," he whispered in disbelief.

"Ha ha, I killed Kyle," Eric Cartman was very pleased with himself; Kenny too stood off to the side and was chuckling.

"You killed Kyle," Stan repeated, feeling numb.

"Serves that stupid Jew right for being Jewish at Christmas again," Cartman shrugged.

"But he's always going to be Jewish at Christmas," Kenny frowned behind his hood.

"I know," Cartman laughed cruelly.

The sound of that laughter enraged Stan who dropped Kyle's hat and threw himself against the fat ass, getting ready to pummel his fists into the many layers of lard.

"I thought you guys weren't supposed to fight on Christmas day," said a voice from Stan's right, "unless you're like Kenny and live with alcoholics."

"Shut up Kyle," Kenny fumed, turning to face the new arrival.

With his fist halfway to Cartman's chin, Stan froze on the spot, unable to believe that Kyle was really standing there, that he was home.

"Did you fly back last night?" Kenny asked.

"Yeah," Kyle smiled at all his friends.

"But its Christmas," Cartman pushed Stan away with one hand.

"Yeah but I was in Israel dude," the Jewish boy laughed, "Who is celebrating Christmas there?"

"Good point," Cartman scratched his chin and gave the wreckage of the snowman another kick.

Kyle walked up to Stan and gently punched his arm in greeting, "Did you miss me gay wad?"

"Hell no," Stan lied, not sure if it was the cold that was making his cheeks go red.

"He's been crying everyday!" Cartman said loudly, "He's been a right pussy fag missing his pussy Jewish boyfriend."

"Shut up Cartman."

"FAG!" Cartman laughed and pointed his fat finger at Stan.

But this time it was Kyle's fist that reached Cartman's chin first and the fat boy fell back into the snow. He then gave him a kick to the ribs and looked unconcerned when Eric started coughing.

"Ignore him dude. He's such a douche bag."

Stan remembered his visit to the North Pole, and while he was still unsure whether or not it was real he did remember everything Santa had told him.

"Hey Kyle," he began, "I haven't opened my Christmas presents yet. Wanna come in and give me a hand?"

"Sure dude," Kyle looked surprised and strangely excited at the idea. And while it was only Kyle that had been invited, Kenny followed them in too, into the warmth of the Marsh home. Cartman was left in the snow outside.

Someone in South Park however was certain that the incidents of the night before had happened and around about noon he went to the Marsh home to complain.

Randy answered the door, surprised to see Officer Barbrady there, "Can I help you officer?

"Little boys don't fly," he said.

"Yeah I know," Randy looked at him, confused.

"It's too dangerous," Officer Barbrady told him, "they could fall and die."

"Well… yeah. Have you been drinking too much eggnog officer?"

"No," Barbrady sniffed and turned to leave, "but you owe me a cup of coffee."

* * *

To all the readers, I, Claire, would like to wish everyone out there a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah and Seasons Greetings to everyone that reads this story. In the words of the song, I wish you a hopeful Christmas; I wish you a brave New Year, all anguish, pain and sadness, leave your heart and let your road be clear. 

And may Santa leave you presents instead of coal LOL


End file.
